


A classic, but still annoying, body swap.

by mjstark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bodyswap, Confusion, Eventual Romance, Humor, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, loki is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjstark/pseuds/mjstark
Summary: A Bodyswap fic, but nothing is quite as it seems.Steve is Tony, Tony is a fish, and nobody likes Loki.Or; In which Steve gets a closer look at what it really is to be Tony Stark, and doesn't like it at all.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Tony didn’t really wake up, sort of faded into consciousness and a whole new reality. There was no big moment of realization, more of a slow adjustment. He was a fish. That was okay.

Or not okay. Whatever. Tony didn’t really feel like he had the brain power to comprehend the situation fully, but he did know that he was at almost the exact right temperature. There were other fish there. Doing the same as him. Just floatin’. He felt good, he realized. He felt peaceful. No worries when you’re a fish, huh? No arc reactor, no dumb avengers or business people.

Free floating, baby. 

Slowly, he felt some brain power returning. Not much. Enough to recognize the tank. The tank in the Avengers tower. Tony Stark’s tank that spreads across a good portion of the kitchen. God bless his human self for getting such a cool tank. Why was he a fish again?

 

 

__

 

Steve didn’t really wake up either. He wasn’t really sure what happened. One minute, he had woken up and it was 3 in the morning and Loki was there and the next minute he was being ripped from his body in the most painless way possible. His body had lain back down, and Steve - his soul or his astral self or whatever- had been taken by Loki gently and all the way to… Tony Stark, of all people. Why him? Steve found himself panicking, wondering if Loki was going to hurt him.

Tony was in his lab, and had been awake and drunk and pissed off at seeing Loki. He hadn’t been able to see Steve, who watched him put up a pretty impressive fight. When Loki ripped him out of his body it looked a lot more painful than Steve’s, considering Tony stumbled to his hands and knees, screaming through his teeth. Then his body collapsed, and Tony’s soul or conscience or essence saw him for a brief second. Steve couldn’t remember anything after that other than feeling as if someone was squeezing him and stretching him in complete darkness.

 

__

 

 

Being a fish was awesome, Tony decided. He swam loops around all the plants and lights in his tank. Fuck being a human, this was as good as it gets.

Tony still wasn’t sure why he was a fish, or what was going on, but his brain was fluffy and numb and things like being self-aware and having the ability to reason were definitely not on any fish’s priorities.

 

__ 

 

Meanwhile, Steve woke up with a groan. God, what the hell was happening?

Too much was going on, too much attacked his mind at once. Focus, he tried to tell himself, tried to reason. What was going on?

Everything hurt. His chest hurt like fuck and his head hurt worse. His brain was pinging and buzzing and vibrating with _stuff_. A million thoughts were running through his head and he couldn’t seem to catch hold of even one. Nausea racked his body and the headache pounded at his skull, and yet the worst part was that he was thinking and thinking and he couldn’t seem to stop. 

God, he needed a drink.

Wait, what? 

 

Why did he feel like this? His insides felt… cold. Dark. Steve hadn’t felt sick since before the serum, hadn’t had a headache since before even that. Why did his chest hurt so bad? Steve couldn’t even open his eyes. He blindly clutched a hand at the dead, painful weight in his chest.

When his fingers touched cold metal, he froze. He took a few seconds to build himself up to it and then, with more effort than it had ever taken in his life, Steve opened his eyes and winced at the light. He was… on the floor. In Tony’s lab.

 

It’s okay though, this has happened before.

What? No, it hasn’t?

Steve couldn’t bring himself to sit up yet, but he glanced down at the metal his fingers had touched. He tried to focus. He really did, but there were a trillion things going on in his mind. He could practically feel the neurons zipping around, each carrying a different, speedy thought. Steve stared at his body, forcing himself to zero in on the visuals, trying his best to ignore everything else. 

 

His fingers were… thinner. More tanned. And cold? Why were his hands cold? Steve felt a conflict of thoughts in his head. On the one hand, the feeling of having cold hands was totally new to him. He hadn’t had cold hands in this way because the serum had perfected his circulation. On the other hand, something deep inside him felt like he had always had cold hands. And thin hands. 

 

Steve caught himself getting distracted by that particular train of thought and scolded himself. Why would he get caught up on that when another part of his brain was screaming at him that there was an _arc reactor_ in his chest. Another part of his brain was going Everything Hurts! And another part was telling him he needed a drink, and there were 50 million other parts of his brain telling him a million other things each. 

It took him 4.8 seconds to realize that something was wrong and another 2.5 seconds to realize what it was. He was Tony Stark. How he had figured out the timings was a mystery, and how he had figured out the whole thing, in general, was another mystery entirely. Guess being a genius really did have its perks.

 

As well as its downsides, Steve found himself thinking, because _fuck_. He’d only been properly conscious for 8 seconds and he’d had 30,000 internal conversations, cursed about as many times again, and had come up with another couple hundred potential causes as well as potential solutions.

How the hell did Tony put up with this much nonsense all the time? This brain was a bag of multicolored, excited, snakes wriggling around at full speed, all tangled up with each other. Let alone his goddamn headache. Steve had almost totally forgotten the feeling of these kinds of injuries. 

He wrestled with the truth of his situation for a second or two longer. He tried to fully embrace the feeling of being Tony Stark but found himself duly overwhelmed. The need to do something was overpowering and Steve found that Stark’s fix-it instincts combined with his ability to accept ridiculous things in record time were working in his favor this time because if he could focus on getting to the others and figuring this out he could avoid the feeling of being Tony Stark full-force. 

 

No. 

 

Steve thought about it. Really thought about it. He was Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers. Not Tony Stark. It was his conscience in here, not Tony’s. Stark would want to get moving and working immediately. Steve was in charge, however, and Steve wants water. 

So he gets up and feels the nausea hit him again. He, or Tony, walks out into the main living area but Natasha and Clint are already there, so Steve speeds up and into the elevator before they can see him. He needs to get his story straight first.

He goes to press the button for his floor but pauses. He has to go to Tony’s floor.

__

 

 

Being a fish sucked, Tony thought. It was fun for like ten minutes. He was bored now. So bored. His brain moved so slowly? 

Bit by bit, he had managed to piece together what had happened. Fucking Loki. Now, he was watching as Clint and Natasha hung out in the kitchen. He could actually hear them, which was weird, but he didn’t question it. Couldn’t really question it.

 

Tony spun in circles. This was so boring.

 

___

 

This was fucking crazy. Steve was Steve, but he seemed to know so much. He knew the way to the bathroom in Tony’s floor, even though he had never been there. Fuck. He was Tony. So where was the real Tony? 

 

Fucking Loki. 

 

Why was Steve cursing so much? 

Tony’s body was covered in oil and stank of booze. Steve remembers vaguely working on a car, despite never actually working on a car himself. God, what was happening. 

It was deafening, trying to listen to all the thoughts in his head and Steve found himself drinking three full glasses of water in the hopes of dulling the headache before giving in and pouring himself some of the scotch Tony seemed to leave lying around. He stopped himself before drinking it, debating whether or not drinking this early in the morning was worth it for the sake of maybe quietening the voices in his head. 

He set the glass down. It wasn’t his place to wreck Tony’s body, even if the man did it to himself anyway. 

Should he take a shower? It was weird. Like, really weird. He was in Tony Stark’s body. Should he look? He definitely shouldn’t. But Tony stank of booze and Steve really had no idea what to do. 

In the end, he did shower. With his eyes shut. The whole time. A long-term crush was absolutely no reason to go looking at someone’s naked body without their knowing. God, he wanted to look so badly. Afterwards, he crawled along the floor with his eyes still shut, scanning with his hands for underwear and jeans. It took a stupidly long time, but Steve felt a little better. 

Now, he checked himself in the mirror and was suddenly choked with feeling a sudden surge of pure and vicious _hatred_. Disgust filled him up at the sight of himself before Steve got back into his own mindset and forced the feelings away. What the fuck? He hadn’t felt anything but love at the sight of Tony for weeks. Except, okay, maybe lust sometimes. Frustration, occasionally, maybe some anger and a few unidentifiable others. What could he say? Tony was a confusing guy.

 

 

 It was so fucking weird having dark hair. Messy, dark hair which Steve was now realizing is actually really curly when damp. That’s cute. Steve wriggled his eyebrows. He’d always been slightly jealous of Tony’s ability to move his eyebrows. They were so expressive. Steve stepped closer to the mirror. His eyes were really, really dark brown.

For some reason, Steve stayed staring for ages. He knew what Tony looked like. Of course, he did. He’d just never gotten the opportunity to stare before. To appreciate. The arc reactor was something else entirely. It was amazing. Tony Stark was incredibly beautiful.

(He also had some pretty firm abs) 

 

___

 

Thor and Bruce were in the kitchen now too. Clint had come to feed him earlier, which was nice. 

Tony had splashed him in the face. 

 

__

 

Steve sat in Tony’s room. It looked like a nice room. It also looked exceptionally unused. Steve found himself wondering how often Tony actually slept in here. 

He was still struggling with all the thoughts whizzing around as he sat, but something in his body wanted him to move. His patience was wearing very thin and the need to do _something_ was becoming overpowering. So he started pacing, and then found himself in the elevator. He wasn’t really fully in control of himself as he walked into the kitchen. Apparently Tony Stark had very poor impulse control. Steve was not surprised, but he did attempt to overpower it. 

He slowed his pace and evened his breath, then looked around the room. Steve Rogers’ body was not present.

“You’re up early, Stark.” Natasha pointed out blandly. Steve thought about it and, yeah, Tony wouldn’t usually surface until the evening, if he surfaced at all. “Nice of you and your torso to join us.”

Fuck.

Steve had forgotten to put a shirt on. Fuck. Fuck you, Tony, and your sieve-like brain. 

But also thank you. For being a messy fuck who leaves his sweaters all over the place. Steve picked up a plain black sweater that he shamefully could confirm was Tony’s by the smell and began to slip it on when-

“Whoa, whoa, whoa whoa. Stark, is that a belly button piercing scar?” Clint was out of his chair and shoving him up against the counter. He bent down to stare at his- Tony’s- belly button before whooping loudly. “it is! It is! Natasha, Bruce, Thor. Stark had a fucking belly button piercing!” 

Guilt flooded him at betraying Tony’s secret like that, but he didn’t feel embarrassed at all. Which was really weird. He didn’t feel a blush coming and there were no nervous sweats. In fact, Tony’s brain found it funny. God bless you, Tony, for your complete lack of shame.

“Why, Stark? When? Tell me everything!” Steve let himself think about it and discovered he was actually able to access that memory. He found himself going back to a time where he’s lying on a table. Maybe a kitchen table? He can't tell. He’s drunk and laughing. The room is flooded with bright red light and music is playing and there are people packed in like sardines. He’s definitely the center of attention and everyone cheers as a needle goes through his belly button. There’s a chant going ‘Stark! Stark! Stark! Stark!’

What the hell, Tony? 

Then Steve remembers that he is not Tony Stark and he really needs to-

“-tell you guys something. It's serious.” When had he started talking? Why did Tony have no fucking mouth filter? Steve was a little startled at how his voice sounded. Deep and with more… something to it than his usual voice.

“Uh-oh. Must be bad if even you’re being serious.” Bruce commented lazily.

“Yeah. Isn’t everything a joke to you?” Clint mocked him and Steve tried not to frown. How dare he mock Steve when he thinks Steve is not there.

“I’m not Tony!”

….

“Uh.”

“I’m not! Its Steve! I’m Steve! I’m in Tony’s body. Loki fucking came to me last night and put me in Tony’s body.”

___

 

When Tony watched himself walk into the kitchen, he thought that yeah, that was a little weird. What was worse, though, was that his fucking stupid self had gotten himself exposed re the belly button piercing. Fucking Barton.

So Steve was in his body. That’s pretty fucked up.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in what was probably ever, Steve wasn’t hungry. That’s messed up. He searched Tony’s memories for anything that included food in the last 24 hours and came up blank. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to eat. When Bruce placed some eggs in front of him, he found himself eating because of the expectation, not because he particularly wanted to. Around him, the others were discussing the situation they were in but he found himself constantly losing focus and getting distracted, coming up with his own theories, finding flaws in everything everyone said. He wondered what time Pepper would be here.

“I’m not gonna lie, Steve, it’s weird seeing Tony so still and quiet.” Steve nodded and found himself agreeing. Tony Stark’s body without the Tony Stark charisma wasn’t really much at all. He tried to bring up some enthusiasm to display but found every time he tried to think of something funny or happy it was drowned out and covered in tar. His happy thoughts were candles in the wind.

“And polite.” 

Steve struggled to laugh at that. How did Tony fucking draw enough energy to be himself when he felt like this all the time?

“Steve, I think we may have had a case like this before. You’re sure it was Loki who did this to you?” Bruce sat in front of him and clasped his hands. The rest of the Avengers took places around the kitchen to listen. 

“Very sure. I saw him sort of take me from my body and bring me down to Stark.” 

“Did it hurt?” Steve shook his head slowly, adding that it looked a lot it hurt Tony. Bruce just nodded. “This has definitely happened before. Seems Loki experimented this skill on two Shield agents before bringing it to the big leagues. I can draw up the files from that case. He didn’t take your soul, he has only switched your conscience. Your memories and Tony’s are slightly mixed up, you are entirely Tony Stark except for in your common, forefront thought processes. If you want to remain yourself, you have to do your best to ignore Tony’s instincts and thought processes.” 

Steve slammed his head into the table, admitting to himself and everyone that he couldn’t do that. The act of slamming his head on the table alone was enough Tony Stark to show it.

“It’s so hard. Do you know how much crap goes on in his head? There’s so much. So much stuff. My brain is going crazy. His whole head is a disco, guys. What the hell?”

“Actually, uh, if this is anything like the last time this happened, which it looks like, you’re probably actually experiencing a _very_ dulled down and muted version of what it feels like to be Tony Stark.”

 

___

 

Tony swam around. The Avengers were talking about him. They wanted to know what had happened to him. Steve’s body had gone into a coma-like state, apparently. Nobody knew where he had gone. He banged against the wall of the tank. No one noticed. God this was boring.

 

___ 

 

Steve was laying on the couch. His insides were a fucking war zone. He was bored by everything and really easily distracted and he wanted to _do_ something but also everything inside him felt hollow and dark and Steve felt so empty. This was just a nullified version of what Stark felt? All the time?

In the kitchen, Clint was laughing at the fucking fish.

“Thor. Look at this fish.” Steve turned as well and saw him pointing at a little black and white fish. It was whizzing from side to side, looping around and crashing into things. “Do you think its okay?”

Steve, for some reason riddled with curiosity, went over to watch as well.

 

___

 

Clint was fucking laughing at him. That dick. Thor and himself (Steve) were also just sat there. He had an audience. 

Tony tried his best to let them know it was him but he was a fish, so it was pretty difficult. He pinged from wall to wall, repeatedly smashing into the glass. Then he went to the bottom and angled himself upwards. With all his small might, he shot upwards and out of the water, crashing int the roof of the tank. Ouch.

“This little fish has such self-destructive tendencies its basically Star-“ Realisation showed itself in the sudden widening of Clint’s eyes. Finally. Dumbass.

 

____

 

“Nat! Nat! Bruce! I found Tony!”

“Clint, I don’t know if-“ Steve started to say, but then he could have sworn he saw the fish roll his eyes. “Okay, yeah, that’s Tony.”

Bruce and Natasha came to crouch by the tank.

“Stark, is that you?” When the fish nodded, Clint burst into laughter.

The fish (Tony) spent the next 45 minutes arranging all the black pebbles into a bow and arrow, only the arrow was a penis. 

 

___

 

Tony watched as the Avengers tried not to laugh at him. Except for Clint, who didn’t try to hide it.

 He banged against the window again. 

___ 

 

Steve was almost glad when the alarm went off. Anything to take his mind off the surreality of being in this body.

“It’s a class B, Hudson River.” Natasha strode into the room and began towards the elevator. “We need firepower.”

Bruce and Thor stood up immediately. Firepower meant the Hulk, Thor, and… Tony. Fuck.

“Steve,” He turned to face Natasha, “We’re gonna need you to suit up. You have access to Tony’s override codes, JARVIS shouldn’t be able to prevent usage.”

He almost tried to argue. JARVIS would surely lock him out having heard them discussing the situation. He’d know it wasn’t really Tony. Then he remembered that he _could_ remember. Tony’s knowledge was his knowledge. 

As if on instinct, he moved his hands and clenched. Tony Stark had put computers in his arms. He could call it remotely.

 

While the suit was on its way, Steve tried not to think of the memory Tony had of doing it. He had been tired. Days-without-sleep tired. He hears JARVIS warn him against experimenting on himself, how it was untested work and he needed more time. He feels the sting in his arms as he does it anyway. 

 

Steve shakes himself out of the memory, trying to ignore the thoughts creeping into his mind.

 

 

 

The suit was incredible. Steve found himself being able to act on instinct and muscle memory alone. Obviously, he was nowhere near as capable as Tony and the things JARVIS told him and the things on the display made little to no sense. Flying was amazing. Steve felt a rush that he had never felt before but seemed familiar to Tony’s body. It worked like a dream. To have come up with something so extraordinary, and for it to work so fantastically, was a mystery to Steve.

 The downside was, during the battle, Steve found himself thinking as Steve Rogers would on the ground. The fight could be won without Captain America, seeing as it was almost entirely airborne, but Steve was failing again and again to find openings for himself. The battle really showed him how much Iron Man did independently on his own. It was infuriating to think how much went on without Captain America or the rest of the team knowing.

“Hawkeye, I need openings. Do you see any openings?” It wasn’t Clint who responded, however, it was JARVIS. As Iron Man, Steve had gone in first, the way Tony always does, but he’d also had to call the shots for everyone else. The shift in usual roles had really thrown him off and he couldn’t help thinking that, although he handled it well, he really needed Tony here. 

 

____

 

Tony swam frustratedly at the glass. He was restless as shit and couldn’t control the jealousy in him that his teammates got to go fight ugly monsters while he had to swim around here.

 

____

 

The mission had been going well. Really, really well. No civilian casualties at all and they were beginning to finish up after an only an hour. The suit was severely damaged due to Steve’s poor handling and Steve felt exceptionally guilty about that, but then Thor had put his hammer through the thing’s head and it was… combusting or something. At any rate, it was shrinking and shrieking and thrashing.

That was when it had all gone wrong for Steve in Tony’s body. The thing lashed around in its final seconds and took out the Iron Man suit with a force that knocked him out of the air. Straight into the Hudson River. 

From there, the water flooded into Steve’s damaged suit and he was drowning.

Memories were flashing through his mind. Memories that weren’t his but may as well have been. He wasn’t in New York, he was in a cave and it was so cold and there were two hands gripping his hair and they were screaming and his lungs were burning and he should _give in_ but he couldn’t. His chest- 

 

 

 

 

It was Thor that heaved him out of the water, but Steve was too far gone to even notice. He ripped off the visor and then pulled the emergency release tag, stepped back to give Steve space to roll over and choke up the water in his lungs. Natasha approached them and stopped dead. Thor knelt down by Tony’s body as it convulsed. Tony swung and caught him by surprise, smashing his fist into his nose and causing him to react on instinct. Thor grabbed both of his arms and pinned them, possibly in the hopes of calming him down.

 

It didn’t work. Tony thrashed harder, screaming a low and guttural scream. He kicked out blindly, catching whoever was nearest and head-butting Thor with a crunch.

“Thor! Let him go!” Bruce was there, dirty and tired looking and de-hulked. Thor released him immediately, looking confused and maybe scared. He wiped the blood from his nose. “This isn’t Steve. This is a flashback, he’s deep in Tony’s memories. We're dealing with Tony Stark until Steve's back in.”

Tony’s (Steve’s?) dark eyes were wild and unfocused and ridden with fear. He was shaking and pale and dripping wet, body still thrashing. Wherever he was, he wasn’t here. Bruce approached him, much slower than Thor, but Tony scrambled away anyway, shielding his face. 

“We need to get him warm and dry. When he begins to regain a conscious thought process, Steve will be able to come back.” The Avengers looked among themselves before Thor ripped the cape off of his back and wrapped it around a trembling Tony Stark. He fought it viciously but his energy was draining fast and he was choking and screaming and tearing hard at his hair.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Tony watched from his tank as the Avengers came back in. If he could have, he would’ve sighed in relief at seeing them all come in unharmed. That was until he got a closer look at their expressions. Then he saw himself.

Or Steve. Whatever.

He watched himself be carried in by Thor, who looked like he had a broken fucking nose. He was wrapped in his cape and struggling. Struggling hard and looking like he was on the tail end of a fucking PTSD flashback. 

 

Oh, Fuck.

____

 

Thor put Tony down on the sofa and Bruce asked JARVIS to turn the heating way up.

Gradually, very, very gradually, the panic faded into just coughing and shaking. Someone placed warm coffee in front of him and the next time he spoke, it was Steve Rogers back again.

“What happened?” 

“Flashback.” Natasha sat near to but not next to him. Steve tried his best to quell the shaking, to ignore the images that kept flashing through his mind. He felt nausea resurge in his chest. 

“I- It- It was the water. The water.” Steve shook his head violently and Clint chucked him a sweater. Without even thinking, he stripped off his wet shirt and put it on. 

For the next few seconds, he battled hard with Tony’s instincts. Everything in the body he inhabited was screaming _get out get out get out don’t let them see you like this_.  Steve himself didn’t want to be seen in such vulnerability. 

 

“Well. No swimming for me until we switch back.” He forced a laugh, completely giving in to Tony’s ability to make a joke, then fled to his room.

 

__

 

Tony watched himself leave abruptly. Wow, handled that one well, Steve. Fucking asshole.

 

“Do any of you know what happened in Afghanistan?” None of them said anything. Bruce shook his head.

“He was in the desert. How could th-“ Natasha froze and a flicker of horror was shown on her face. “Waterboarding. They’ll have wanted missiles and he would have said no.” 

“ _Fuck_ ” Clint stood up and turned around. He put both his fists on the counter and breathed out heavily. No one else said anything. “He was a civilian. He won’t have been trained in any of that-“

“JARVIS, why didn’t we know about this before?” 

“Mr. Stark’s suit is programmed to finish up without his input and then immediately report to the tower. There, I must lock down Sir’s lab until further instruction. With the override code that you used, Captain Rogers, that particular protocol was not put into place.”

 

JARVIS, you traitor. Tony swam in angry circles.

 

“So the suit continues to work while Tony is like that inside it?” 

“If the suit is functional, yes,”

More silence followed as each of them thought back to a time when Tony had been thrown into water and had continued to fight, only to leave immediately and without a word to the tower.

“We’re going to move past it. When Tony and Steve are back in their own bodies, then we will discuss it.” 

“Tony won’t want that.”

“I don’t think even Steve will want that.”

 

Apparently, everyone had forgotten he was here. Shows how easily ignorable you were when you were a fish. 

Fucking hell. You’re a fish for one day and all your secrets start spilling. Great. Okay. So everyone knows now. Lovely.

 

He did actually feel incredibly guilty that Steve had to experience that, but he couldn’t help feeling a little angry at the extreme vulnerability that he showed. I mean. Pity? Really? He wasn’t a baby, for fuck's sake. Everyone there had issues. Why were they all so surprised he had his own? 

 

Tony thrashed in frustration. Fucking assholes. Why can’t they all go back to their own fucking issues?

Who knew a fish could feel so many things. Guilt. Anger. He felt weak, watching himself.

 

____

 

When Steve got to the privacy of Tony’s room, he threw up. All he felt was guilt and fear and stress from whatever had just fucking happened. Tony was going to kill him for acting the way he had. For telling the team secrets that were not his to tell. 

That would’ve been a fucking _muted_ version?

 

He couldn’t bring himself to shower. He couldn’t face water after all that had happened. God, he was exhausted. For what felt like hours, Steve battled an overwhelming feeling of hatred. Hatred for himself and for his body and everything around him. The sight of himself in the mirror tore up his insides with loathing. It felt so foreign to Steve’s mind but so native to Tony’s body. God, Tony really hated himself.

For a while, Steve lay on his bed. Breathing. Thinking. Trying to catch any one of the million thoughts in Tony’s head. His body wanted a drink. His body wanted coffee and to fix a car or some shit. His body didn’t want food or sleep or anything really despite the exhaustion that was ravaging it. 

 

Experimentally, Steve thought about different things. Just to see what kind of feelings arose in response to them. When he thought of alcohol, all he felt was craving. When he thought of food, there was only disinterest.

With the thought of Natasha, there was a weird mix of severe mistrust and yet also affection. A few memories came up in Steve’s (Tony’s) mind of the two of them drinking together, staying up when neither could sleep and laughing and having an okay time. Some sort of relating going on. Who knew.

Thor was simple. Tony liked Thor, despite a hatred of magic. Memories of the two of them just… partying and laughing and watching movies. Easy. Steve found himself smiling at the memories, even though they weren’t his. Thor, apparently, carried Tony on his back everywhere. 

At the thought of Bruce, there were no complications. Just a likeness. Just… sympathy? Tony felt sorry for Bruce. Tony felt sorry for Bruce. Steve wondered why. Why him and seemingly not the others. He didn’t pry.

Clint, too, was such a simple one. Tony and Clint had always got on. A shared love of banter and coffee and Mario Kart and pranks.

Now, Steve thought of Steve, and struggled a little under the flood of different feelings. It was weird. Tony was… jealous? Angry? With Steve and yet also there was… love. Friendship. A desire for something a little more but it was hard to pinpoint. Tony was a little bit mixed up when it came to Steve, apparently. 

 

God. Steve was in Tony’s brain and he _still_ couldn’t figure him out. How does someone get so fucking complicated?

 

Steve missed his own body.

 

 

When he went downstairs a few hours later, Bruce tried to give him the file for the last body-swap incident. Steve couldn’t take it from him.

 

Inexplicably, the feeling of Bruce (or anyone) handing him anything made him feel a little repulsed. Bruce set it down on the table. 

“More problems on the radar.” Clint burst in, “We just got sent a copy of the bill but Stark’s not here to fucking pay for everything. As well as that, all my shit is fucking broken and we all need new stuff. Bruce when is Stark back? I need new stuff.” 

Steve wondered how many times Tony had felt the way he did now and still went and paid the bill and fixed the stuff for the team anyway. 

“It’ll have to wait. Everyone’s tired from the battle. We’ll eat. Steve, the file said that you’re probably going to have to go through some fairly intensive therapy in order to detach yourself from Tony’s body. You'll hate it, but it'll help get you back in your own headspace. It’ll be pretty invasive, for you and Tony, so I guess you can choose who you want to go through it with you.” 

 

Steve nodded slowly, considering it. Neither he nor Tony's body wanted this, at all. But Steve was a Captain, and was going to sacrifice what he had to do to get the job done.

In the end, he chose Natasha, because he trusted her, even though Tony didn’t, and Steve wanted to be selfish just this once.

Bruce and Thor began to heat up some pizzas for everyone and the environment settled down.

 

______

 

So they did miss him, if only so he could pay and clean up after them. Tony was bored out of his damn mind. He slammed himself bodily against the glass. Next to him, another fish did the same thing.

 

Tony had an idea.

 

____

 

“Guys, Tony has started a fish revolution.” Everyone turned to look at the tank and, sure enough, all of the fish were slamming against the glass, following Tony’s lead. 

“We’ll, uh, leave you to deal with that,” Steve said. He was finishing his fourth mug of coffee in the last hour. What the hell was wrong with Tony’s body that he needed this? Bruce had finished briefing Nat on what she needed to do with him and they were about to head out now.

“It’s going to really mess with Tony’s body to be doing this. Talking about feelings, I mean. You’re bad enough, but Tony? He’s probably the worst for it. Especially because he doesn’t trust me.”

Steve hummed absently. “Yeah. He knows you’ve been collecting data from the tower and tried hacking into the less secure servers so that you know a little about him. He also knows you’re not gonna do anything with it, so he allowed you to do it anyway. He even told JARVIS to allow you into the servers because he knew you wouldn’t be able to hack him. He must trust you a bit.

Natasha looked a bit stunned, but let it slide.

“You shouldn’t have told me that.”

“You’re about to find out a lot worse.” They reached their makeshift interrogation room. Bruce was going to be observing and intervening when necessary, from behind the two-way mirror. 

 

They settled into chairs, opposite each other. Tony’s body was already bored. Tony’s body wanted out right now and Steve wrestled with the urge to crack a joke and flee.

“Steve, I’m gonna ask you to think of things, memories etcetera. I need you to, when I ask you to think about Tony’s memories and thoughts, detach yourself from them. Look at them like you look at a movie. They’re Tony’s, not yours. Then, when I ask you about Steve Rogers’ memories, then immerse yourself. Take yourself back. Those are yours. That’s your life.”

“Got it.”

“Tony’s also gonna get bored. Lose focus. It’s just who he is. Please try and power through.” She smiled slightly and Steve nodded. Dread curled in his chest. “Okay, just to… just to start off. Can you tell me your full name, where and when you grew up, and about your family.”

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers. I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. I was born on July 4th. My mom’s name was Sarah, she died of illness a year before I went to war, my dad’s name was Joseph. He was killed in action in World War 1. I have several cousins. I left them all behind when I went in the ice.”

“Now Tony’s.”

“His name is Tony… Anthony Edward Stark. He was born in Manhattan, New York. His mom’s name was Maria Carbonell, his father was Howard Stark. Tony had no other family members that he met. They both died in a car crash, leaving him without family.”

“Tell me about your childhood.”

“I-“ Steve took a breath. He didn’t really want to go and spill his guts, but he really did want his body back. “I was sickly. Ill all the time. I had a whole list of things wrong with me. I almost died of it, once, when I was 12. After 14, I was mostly just small and incapable.”

“Tell me more about what you did. Who with. What it was like.”

“I was with Bucky. Bucky was my best, my only, for a long time,  friend. We did everything together. Even when I had nothing, I had Buck. I got beat up a lot, usually my own fault, but I always had Bucky. We didn’t have much money, but we made it work and we got by just fine.”

“Now Tony. Don’t give me any specific memories just yet. Give me a gist of his childhood.”

“He…” Steve thought about it. Thought back to Tony’s childhood. “It was… lonely. Tony barely ever saw his mother. Never saw Howard. He didn’t see anyone for… a long time. He had someone though. Jarvis. A man named Jarvis.”

“That’s who JARVIS was named after,” Natasha whispered, digressing from the task for a moment. She shook herself back. “Tell me more about who he spent his time with. What kind of things he did.”

“His first language isn’t English, its Italian.” Natasha frowned. She hadn’t known that. “He went to high school early. At boarding school. He went to MIT at 15, that’s where he met Rhodey. That’s where his reputation began to kick in. He… He went to a lot of parties. Slept with a lot of people. There was a lot of drink and drugs and the only person that really stuck was Rhodey. At boarding school it was… kind of the same. Only no friends. Tony never had… Tony's never had anyone, really.” 

Steve wasn’t thinking before he spoke, he was just telling it as it came to him. 

“He was in the news, all the time. Howard and Maria had him talking to the press, getting pictures in the papers and things. That was when, that was sort of how he created this persona. It was never conscious, he just went with that the press wanted to hear. And he achieved a lot. Throughout his life, he's learned to rely on nobody but himself. Built a lot of… things. He was in the press all the time, for everything. That was the only time he really saw Howard, other than…”

“Other than?”

Steve felt sick.  
“Howard was… Howard could be brutal. Aggressive. When Tony was, I think 7, he made him drink a full glass of scotch, to make him a man. To put… Iron in his spine, and hair on his chest,” The words he spoke made him feel nauseous. Tony’s body was physically rejecting any thought of Howard, and Steve wanted to cry at the thought of his old friend. "Tony was, uh, Howard would hit him, to make him stronger, and force him to do things to make him tough."

“Steve, I need you to tell me your earliest memory. Can you remember your earliest memory?”  Natasha looks like she’s resolutely ignoring the new information, shifting on to the next question.

“Yeah. I remember. I was… I was with Bucky in the park. My mom and his mom bought us an ice cream to share. It was… We had strawberry.”

“Tell me how you felt.”

“Good. We didn’t get ice cream much. I was just excited.”

“Can you remember Tony’s earliest memory?”

“Circuit board.” He says abruptly, then tries to organize his words, “He had made a circuit board. At 4. It had been amazing. So many things had been buzzing around my head and I had just, to get them out and to build and to understand had been amazing. I-“

“He, Steve. Detach yourself.”

“Right. He. He had finally made it. Done it. He… There had been no one to show. He had tried to show… Howard. No one had wanted to see it. Tony had- Tony had broken it. Deliberately. He stamped on it.”

“Tell me how he felt.”

“He didn’t cry,” Steve thought back, felt the memory of the feelings swell inside of him, “He was just resigned. It must have happened before. He must have been expecting it. He was just… bored. Not really angry.”

He met Natasha’s eyes. They didn’t soften.

“What was the first Christmas you remember?” 

“Uh, with my mom, the first Christmas after my dad died, it was just the two of us. We… She got me some comic books, and I drew her a picture. It was kind of lonely, without my dad, but we… we had a good time. I liked it.”

“Tony’s first Christmas.”

“I… Oh,” Steve trailed off as the memory came to him, vivid as anything. “He ran… He ran down the stairs and there was this big tree. Huge tree. They’d had it professionally decorated, Tony hadn’t been allowed to help and… And there was… There was no presents or anything. Nothing was there and his… parents didn’t see him all day. They went out and Jarvis had to go with them… Tony didn’t see anyone all day. He was alone for the first Christmas he remembers.” 

“Your favorite memories. I need some of your favorite memories from before you went in the ice. I don’t need much detail.”

“Okay. Okay.” He breathed. “A lot were with my mom. She was, probably, one of my best friends. Bucky, also. Sometimes he took me on double dates with him and the girls he picked up. I pretended to hate them but they were fun. We used to go to fairs and things, anything we could do for free. Then… My best times maybe were with the Howling Commandos. They were some of the best times of my life, despite the context.”

Natasha smiled. “Now Tony’s. Best memories up until MIT.” 

“Jarvis was some of them. Jarvis was one of the few people he ever spoke to. And the maids, but they were so impartial. Best memories… Best memories…” It was hard to dredge up any. 

“Building stuff. All of it was creating stuff. I remember- _He_ remembers. Dum-E. Dum-E was built at 14 when he was blackout drunk and he hadn’t slept for days. And the robot was- It was the best of it’s kind. It was the best. And he was so dumb. Tony loved him.”

“I need more from Tony, Steve. Tell me some more.”

“That’s… Okay. Tony ran away when he was 7, and, before he was found, he felt good. Free. All that jazz. For the first time.” Steve winced slightly, “When he came home Howard hit him.”

“Good.” Natasha nodded once, placing a hand on his. Tony’s body didn’t want that, really. Instinct had him wanting to move away, but at the same time, Tony’s body craved the contact. “What’s the worst thing about being in Tony’s body? Physically. Just physically.” 

“Everything’s heavy,” Steve grumbled, trying for lighthearted, “and I’m so short.”

“Very funny. Tell me for real.” She orders, and he sighs.

“The arc reactor hurts. It’s cold, all the time, and it makes noise and I can feel it deep in my chest. I… Tony’s body is so exhausted. I can’t sleep it away because it’s years, it’s… a lifetime of exhaustion all built up. I have a constant headache, and every time I see alcohol my fingers itch. I can’t sleep at all, and I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling like I did before the serum.”

“Now tell me what it’s like being in Tony’s brain.”

“Awful,” Steve says, without hesitation. “And amazing. Its the most amazing thing in the world, and I hate it.”

“Can you expand on that?” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Natasha was right. This was working. Steve was feeling far more himself, far more in control of his mind, but the memories of being inside Tony Stark’s brain lingered.

“Oh?”

“It was… I can’t describe it. It was incredible. There’s nothing like it. There’s nothing like Tony Stark’s brain. It’s brilliant. It’s brilliant. Bruce said it was muted and I couldn’t believe him because everything is a hundred miles an hour. Everything is 100% and too much and too fast and too bright and colorful and crazy. I’ll never forget it. I can’t believe he’s like this all the time.”

“Can you tell me more?”

“Yes. Tony is… So many things. He’s so smart. Everything that happens, I predicted before it happened. Because his brain just… figures it out. Everything I see I have to figure out, and everything that’s broken I have to fix. I can’t stop moving, I can’t stop thinking. I have so many thoughts and I don’t even know what half of them are.”

“You also said it was awful?”

“Yeah, it’s… I hate it.”

“Why?”

“It’s too much. Tony’s thoughts are… they’re not good." Steve struggles to maintain eye contact with Natasha. Tony's body is accustomed to forcing itself to do what it's expected to do. His face is easily casual and lighthearted and Steve thinks that if he wanted to, it would be easy to pretend he was enjoying this,

"His thoughts are often not good. They get… they get pretty dark. I think he has a lot of trouble balancing what’s wrong and right. With his science, his creations, he struggles to find where the line is. He’s had this idea… I… This idea, he calls it ‘the superior iron man’, in his head,” Tony’s body is coiling with hatred and fear, hating himself for speaking, “He never intends to make it, but he’s sure he can. He knows it would be the best thing he’s ever created. And then there’s extremis…”

“I think we should leave that unsaid,” Natasha cuts through, sensing that there’s a lot more to this that both her and Steve could ever know. “But Tony struggles with wrong and right?”

“Yeah, he… His thoughts reach untold lows. I haven’t… His body is dreading the night time. I know it’s going to be awful. It’s going to be awful and I know he struggles with sleep but I didn’t realize how awful it is. He hates himself. He hates himself, Natasha. He hates what he’s done. All the time, I keep getting these memories of these soldiers and I just, the damage his weapons did and he hates himself for the damage he caused. Everything he does is an attempt to right even a fraction of the wrongs he's done.”

Natasha’s face remains smooth, but she’s struggled with her own problems, regarding her history and what she used her skills to do, the ‘red in her ledger’.

“Tell me the worst moments of your life.”

Steve sucks in a breath. This was definitely harder than he anticipated.

“My mom dying. Being ill, all those times. Especially when we couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Seeing Bucky go to war. Getting declined all those times, whilst trying to sign up. Peggy, too. Having to leave Peggy. Uh, I… The worst was Bucky. The worst moment of my life was watching my best friend fall from the train.” Steve closed his eyes, willing the memory away. “Then, I guess, waking up. And… And watching Tony go through the wormhole.”

“Good,” Natasha says, gently. “Now Tony’s.”

“I-“

“Over the age of 20.”

“Afghanistan. 3 months of… 3 months of _torture_. Watching the soldiers in the jeep die, and then… Yinsen. Yinsen dying and then the discovery of all the damage that my- that his weapons had done."

“Keep going,”

“Stane’s betrayal. Stane’s betrayal was awful, he ripped… he ripped the arc reactor right out of his chest. And then when he was dying, when the arc reactor was poisoning him. You were there. The worst after that was the wormhole. I’ve… Tony’s never recovered from that. He still thinks about it.”

“What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you, Steve Rogers, want. In life. In general. Goals, aims, personal targets.”

“I… I want to do right, to do good in the world. And I want… I want this team to work. I want better relationships with you guys.”

“You guys?” Natasha asks skeptically. Steve relents.

“Tony. I want a better relationship with Tony. I want… I want a relationship with Tony.”

Natasha smiles, and Steve has a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t an official question. Bruce’s voice comes over the speaker system.

“Okay, the good news is that Steve’s dropped all of Tony’s mannerisms, figures of speech, tendencies, and Jarvis is reading totally different expressions. Steve, you’re probably exhausted from this, so get some rest. With any luck, you’ll switch back overnight.”

As slowly as possible, so as not to seem like he was running away, Steve nods once at Natasha and once at the mirror, vaguely at Bruce, and then heads for the door. Bruce was right. He was fucking exhausted from that.

He did feel more like himself, though. Almost completely like himself. Minus the body thing. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to not being able to lift heavy shit. How did Tony survive whilst being so averagely weak?

 

When he reaches Tony’s bedroom, he doesn’t even bother getting changed. It would be just another awkward few minutes of trying to avoid looking at Tony’s dick. Instead, he reaches over to the drawer and locates the heavy-duty, use in case of emergency, drugs Tony has to get to sleep and knocks himself straight out.

Tony was going to hate him. To hate himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? Would luv some feedback


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORE ANGST as promised.

 

The drugs didn’t work. Steve lay awake in bed, letting his mind churn and body ache for hours. Hours where Tony’s mind consumed him. 

God, his brain just… didn’t turn off. 

 

Steve was no stranger to not sleeping. He’d had plenty sleepless nights. This didn’t feel like the kind of thing he could pound out in the gym, though. He couldn’t sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come. Sleep was a million years away. A distant, unattainable land. He couldn't sleep.

And yet he couldn’t do anything, either. Steve felt his body completely and utterly overwhelmed with relentless, surging, powerful sadness.

It wasn’t even sadness. It wasn’t… It wasn’t sadness. It was different.

He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry or scared or any of that.

Steve was stood in a cold ocean, right up to his chest, barely covering his shoulders, and he couldn’t move forward because the ocean was too strong. Wave after small wave hit him once, twice, three times. Over and over again and again. He couldn’t move backward. He couldn’t backward towards the shore because behind him, there was no shore. There were waves, too, coming the other way. Pushing gently but firmly against his back. He couldn’t move forward and he couldn’t move backward. He was shivering from the coldness of the ocean, and it was shoving him forward and back, but he couldn’t move. He couldn't sleep. He couldn’t wake up. This wasn’t sadness.

The ocean was getting higher, creeping up his neck and he couldn’t move. It reached his chin and he couldn’t move. He tilts his head back, but the ocean rises. Slowly. Painfully slowly. 

Steve closes his eyes and submerges himself in the water, and it’s cold. It’s so cold and it’s so dark and suddenly it’s _bright_.

It’s bright from an explosion and he’s falling? He’s falling backward and he can’t hear anything. He’s in space. He’s falling through space and he can’t hear anything. Steve closes his eyes again, lets the blackness leak back in.

 

Sound sucks back into his ears like rising from water, and Steve sits upright.

 

He’s in bed. He’s in Tony’s bed. He’s Tony. These are Tony’s thoughts. These are Tony’s thoughts. These are Tony’s thoughts.

 

_ Something is coming. _

_Something is coming_ and he has to do something to stop it. Something is coming and it’s bigger than them. It’s bigger than anything they can hope to stop. Something up there. In space. _Something is coming_. 

_Something is coming_ and he has to protect the Earth.

 

Steve shakes himself. Tries to re-attach his thoughts to Steve Rogers, not Tony Stark. Tries to make sense of what Tony was thinking.

When he’d been up there, Tony had seen things. Tony had seen things that human beings weren’t supposed to see. And he’d learned.

Certainty filled Steve and the sensation was so familiar. 

Steve Rogers felt this kind of certainty when he put the Valkyrie in the ocean, felt it when he told the scientists not to shut it off, when he knew that he had to jump out of that plane to find Bucky. This kind of certainty was so familiar that Steve almost relaxed. Almost.

Because Tony was sure. Tony was so, so, sure. _Something was coming_ and he had to stop it and he didn’t know how except for Ultron.

 

Steve froze. What the hell was Ultron?

 

Ultron was what was needed to stop this. To save the Earth. Because _something was_ _ coming _ . 

Without realizing, Steve had made it to the roof. Tony’s body had taken him to the roof and he was staring at the sky. Tony’s body was a whirlwind of thoughts. He was working himself up. Tony’s body was well-practiced at this. Well-practiced at building up this fear, trying to figure out how to protect the Earth.

Because something was coming and nobody would believe him but _something was coming_. He had to do something.

A million ideas were in his head. A million questions and answers and fear and sick, twisted _excitement_. Tony’s body was disgusted, coiled in hatred but so excited. _Something was coming_ , and Steve had never been so sure of anything as Tony was right now. He needed to stop thinking. 

Tony’s body wants to build something, or drink something, or fly. Steve’s conscience wants to hit something, or draw something, or read something. Instead, he forces his eyes down from the infinite space above him. If he keeps staring at the sky, if Tony’s mind keeps dragging up the idea of how insignificant Earth is in this galaxy, of how insignificant he is in this world, then he’d go insane. 

Instead, he turns to look at New York City.

 

The sight takes his breath away. 

 

The way Tony saw New York was so… different. It was so different to Steve.

Steve had grown up in New York, just like Tony had. Steve was a part of it, has always been, but that was in the 40s. Since waking up, New York felt like something else. Somewhere else. Looking at it felt like looking at an oil painting. Felt like watching a movie. Felt like Steve was walking in a simulation.

But Tony… Tony lived and breathed New York. The city was so alive with life and energy and Tony was a  _ part _ of it. Tony was a part of New York, he wasn’t a resident. When Steve looked at New York City, through someone else’s eyes, it was like looking at a whole new place. It felt like belonging. It felt like fitting into place. It felt so natural and meant to be and Steve hadn’t felt this way, since… well, since before the ice.

Every light, every sound, every anything was like music. It was like coming home.

 

And Tony hated New York because he knew exactly how well he belonged there. 

  
  
  


Steve stays on the roof for hours. He stays on the roof for so long that he forgets he’s even there. He balances his time between wrestling with Tony’s thoughts. Tony’s feelings. Tony’s… everything, and staring at the city spread out at his feet. 

If he delves into Tony’s memory, which he has generally been avoiding out of politeness, then he would know that Tony usually sits right at the edge, feet dangling over the side.

Having a different outlook, having a new perspective, on everything you can imagine, was the most difficult thing in the world.

Steve had never been empathetic. People were always surprised, because he was kind and nice and good, but wasn't empathetic. He was sympathetic, sure. Always was. But he struggled to relate. Struggled to understand things from someone else’s view, he was so stuck in his own ways, in his own mindset. Especially Tony. He had never understood Tony’s point of view. 

Experiencing his thought process, the totally different way the two of them deduced the value of good or bad, it was mind-blowing. Steve had always known what was right and wrong. He’d decided for himself what was right and wrong, but Tony hadn’t. Tony had grown up in the spotlight, all eyes on him, and hadn’t had to care about right or wrong because it wasn’t his concern, wasn’t his choice. Modern days were different. Things were so relative. So flexible.

Steve had always thought that Tony was far too flippant. That his morals were too easy and bendy and he had hated that people in the future seemed to think they could decide what was right or wrong based on the situation, and how they felt. That’s not how things used to be.

So, all in all, getting smacked in the face with someone else’s ideals was a little enlightening. Tony did have a very firm view of right, but he lost perspective sometimes. Tony’s brain was so overloaded with thoughts, ideas, potentials, variables, paranoia, solutions, problems, that it was impossible to discern what was even real. No wonder the bugger never slept. 

Steve curled in on himself, hating that this was a muted version of being Tony Stark. Hating that he was inside him, inside his mind that was basically a galaxy, and he felt like he was barely scratching the surface. He was a leaf floating in an ocean of a mind. This was nothing. This was nothing of what it meant to be Tony Stark and yet he could barely close his eyes for fear of being crushed under the avalanche of this new existence. 

He stared at his hands. Tony’s hands. He was so exhausted. Everything hurt all the time. There was a constant ache behind his eyeball. 

The good side, the only plus side, was that the nostalgia was finally gone.

Tony had always lived in this age. He wasn’t an insert. He wasn’t a man out of time. 

He was a man of the future, and although he was never satisfied, although he was itching for the future, always looking forward, always searching for the next thing, at least he wasn’t looking _back_. 

Being in this body had given Steve a small break from the not knowing. A break from the longing and aching for a sense of belonging. He understood references, didn’t think twice about ads he saw, and since being in this body, there were no aches for things to just be the way they were.

Tony didn't want anything to be the way it was. He wanted more, better, bigger, brighter, stronger, greater. 

It occurred to Steve that neither of them really felt like they were supposed to be here. They both felt like they should be dead. They should be dead because Tony’s life was buried under fire and blood in a cave in Afghanistan, and Steve’s life was buried in the ice and the ocean 70 years ago. 

The difference, he supposed, was that Tony had forced himself to fight because he felt it was his duty. He felt that he didn’t deserve this second chance, and third, after the poisoning, and fourth, after the wormhole. He felt he was still here to attempt to right the wrongs he had done. The wrongs he had allowed to happen when he was young and naive and manipulated. Steve, he had given up on duty. It was duty during the war. This, he did this because he had nothing else. He had nothing else to do but fight. 

And there was an element of that for Tony, too. He felt he didn’t deserve the good life. Didn’t deserve a break, because he was here to make the world a better place.

 

Maybe they had more in common than Steve had originally thought.

  
  


Much later, because Tony never was good at keeping track of the time, Steve slips downstairs. Tony’s body wants to go to the lab, but Steve feels like maybe he’s invaded Tony’s personal spaces enough. 

  
It was hard to fight these urges. Steve, although impulsive sometimes and reckless, had grown up in the 40s. Tony had not. Tony had grown up needing very little control. He had never learned how to restrict himself, behave himself, and control his general urges and desires. And Tony had never wanted to. If Tony had wanted something, then he would do it. Get it. And if he couldn’t find it, then he’d create it. So it was harder than he would have thought to control the urge to go to the lab. Tony’s body didn’t really feel any desire to obey anything or anyone, and that was a familiar feeling for Steve, so he forgives it.

Instead, he goes to the main room, beelines for the kitchen, and sits on the counter. Tony’s body was hardly functional without coffee, though his mind whirred just as fast with or without. Steve dreaded to think what this brain was like when fully energized, slept well, sober, and after having eaten properly. That was probably too much power for one body. Steve almost couldn’t blame Tony for keeping his brain so muted and undermined.

So, Steve follows his own tradition and makes cocoa. Somehow, he’d inherited Tony’s total inability to do anything even vaguely domestic, and he makes a mess and almost burns it, melting a plastic spoon along the way. 

As soon as he smells it, the finished cocoa, Tony’s body warms and glows and it takes him a while to pinpoint the reasoning until he realises it’s because it smells like Steve. Tony’s body… Tony thought it smelled like Steve and it was… relaxing? 

 

Steve hadn’t spent much time thinking about himself, aside from the few seconds the previous day, but now, with a more tired Tony’s body and a clearer, more precise objective, he realised with a shock that Tony liked him. It was a confused, addled, like. And like wasn’t so rare, so it wasn’t a big deal. The big deal was trust.

Tony had relaxed because he trusted Steve. 

Which, Steve was learning, was no mean feat. Tony had paranoia and trust issues to rival Natasha’s, and having grown up learning that trust was for the weak and the doomed, Tony trusting Steve felt like a very, very big deal. It was combined with a sense of dread. Wariness. Tony was waiting for things to be ruined. For it to get fucked up and convoluted. Tony was being... precarious.

As with before, though, Steve tried to let it go. Tried not to dig too deep into Tony’s feelings because it wasn’t fair. He would hate, more than anything in the world, for the roles to be reversed. For Tony’s curious conscience to be in his brain.

He’s broken out of his reverie by a small, almost imperceptible tapping. With normal hearing, not supersoldier hearing, Steve barely heard it. He turned to look at the little fish in the tank. Tony. Tony. Real Tony.

Steve smiles softly, and it’s unfamiliar on Tony’s face, despite the large grin that came so easily during the day. The fish, Tony, looked almost sorry for him. He swims a little loop de loop and faces him again, wiggling it’s tail. He thrashes slightly, trying to direct Steve to something next to the tank.

He stands, awkwardly, and follows to where he thinks Tony is pointing. It’s a sweater? Steve’s sweater.

In Tony’s mind, the idea makes sense. He’s done this before. He’s worn Steve’s sweater when he can’t sleep?

As he puts it on, it all makes sense. The smell of Steve makes Tony’s body relax, not much, but a little. It swamps him.

“I miss you,” He says to the fish, and it’s probably not the weirdest thing Tony’s done when he can’t sleep. The fish somehow looks smug, and Steve rolls his eyes because only Tony could manage that as a fish. It was true though. He missed him. He missed Tony. 

The Tony that he bantered with on the field. The Tony that he told off and chastised but teased as well. The Tony that was funny and witty and lit up a room just by walking in.

Steve couldn’t link that Tony to the one he inhabited. He felt so… Tony felt so… nothing. It felt like such well trained nothingness and Steve could barely muster a smile, let alone the charisma Tony carried. He didn’t like this Tony. It was wrong, sure, to think that but Steve couldn’t handle it. Could barely handle his own baggage, and this was something else entirely. Steve wished he could find comfort, but the person he’d go to for comfort was Tony.

He hadn’t realised it before. Hadn’t realised how heavily he relied upon Tony’s presence, but this experience was exhausting and enlightening and all Steve wanted was to sit too close to his friend while they watched movies, bumping knees and telling him to stop talking through it and not to play on his phone. God, he just wanted Tony back. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” He tells the fish, and hates that Tony's body doesn't know how to cry.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna ask the same q as other fic ok:::::
> 
> IDea: Hogwarts au steve tony rivalry ok ok
> 
> featureing:::::::: PRofessor DUMBLEFURY
> 
> Hands raised children should i write yes or n o


	5. Chapter 5

 

He doesn’t stay with Tony for long. Can’t stay there with the knowledge he’s gained from this experience. Things were so much easier to deal with when you could punch it in the face to make it stop? 

As well, Steve finds himself drawn to the windows. Every glimpse of New York City feels like a glimpse of something he was never supposed to see. A new world that wasn’t his own. He didn’t mean to be, but Steve was surprised by the loneliness Tony felt. Sure, the guy had friends and he seemed to know everyone on the planet, but Tony was so achingly lonely. Steve recognized it, the same way he recognized it in himself. It was nearing morning and the sun was beginning to rise, meaning the rest of the Avengers would be out here soon as well. Steve went to the elevator, pressing the button to his own floor before he even realized what he was doing.

Tony never usually came up to Steve’s floor, nor would Steve ever go to his, so it was an odd thing to do.

What was weirder, however, was the relief and warmth Tony’s body felt at the sight of Steve. 

Steve approached, well, himself. Looking at yourself unconscious in a bed was strange enough, but balancing it with whatever Tony was feeling was even worse. The loneliness that had settled in his chest since the beginning was relieved, if only slightly, at the sight of Steve. Tony’s body wanted to leave, most likely out of discomfort. He probably subconsciously felt like he was invading Steve’s privacy. Overstepping a line. Probably a bit late for that, Steve thought. 

For the first time since waking up in this body, Steve wanted contact. Tony hadn’t wanted contact at all. With anyone. It showed obviously, even when Steve was in his own body. Tony would pat people and slap them on the back or ruffle their hair. Anything where he was in control, that was fine. But people touching him? That was usually a no.

Except for now. For the first time since waking up, Tony wanted contact. From Steve. And he was fucking confused about it. Years of not wanting or needing physical comfort, drilled into him from a young age by Howard, seemed to crack at the sight of Steve, lying there vulnerable. The sensation of wanting that, needing that contact, made Tony’s body twitch in confusion, and Steve fought the urge to flee at the sight of his own body. 

 

(Tony’s body also wanted to draw a dick on Steve’s coma-ridden face, but he ignored that one particular urge)

  
  


Steve couldn’t move any closer. He stayed stood in the doorway, watching himself just lay there. Tony’s body didn’t want to move closer. Didn’t want to leave, either, but couldn’t move closer to him. In the back of his mind, Steve couldn’t help but think that this incident, this body swap, was really bad. It wasn’t just a funny prank. This had the potential to destroy everything. As tough as everyone in the tower pretended to be, something like this could topple the careful friendship he and Tony had begun to form. This was a violation of his privacy, of his mind, and Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel if Tony was in his brain.

After that, he couldn’t bear to look at himself anymore. Instead, he begins to wander aimlessly around the tower. It’s lonely at night, without the constant noise of the other Avengers, and Steve hated that Tony felt like this all the time. Every night. The silence of each room was ringing in his ears, the darkness feeling only natural.

 

The tower was lonely.

 

The arc reactor hurt.

  
  


__

  
  


Steve, or himself, or whatever, came into the kitchen in the middle of the night and Tony the fish would’ve sighed if he could. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be fixed yet. Should’ve known that Steve would have to do the whole not sleeping, thinking about the universe and the crushing inevitability of death thing.

 

When he watches himself leave, probably to go throw himself off the roof or something, Tony swam in angry circles. Passing the time was not easy when you were in a tank, and Tony had taken to hitting on the other fish to see if he could pull even if he was a different species. Turns out, he couldn’t. 

 

Like, at all. Most of the fish were actively avoiding him. Maybe they can sense that he was an imposter. 

 

Where was the soul of this fish anyway? Was it in Steve? Was it just aimlessly floating the multiverse? Maybe it was in fish purgatory. Maybe it was in the fish, too, pissed off at having to share its vessel of life with some dick who kept bashing against the glass.

 

__

  
  


One of Steve Rogers’ many talents was compartmentalizing. It was easy. You look at something, you think ‘I’ll deal with that later’, and then you move on. 

Tony did not have that talent. Every new thing he learned about Tony, Steve would try and think ‘christ that's shit. I’ll think about that later’ but it wasn’t working. He was constantly swallowed by a million and a billion and a trillion things to think about and he couldn’t just… shut them away for later.

Tony’s usual ‘clearing my head’ methods were typically self-destructive. Steve ached for a drink, or to go build something, or to fly the suit, but he wouldn’t let himself.

Instead, he goes back up to Tony’s room and stares at himself in the mirror. This proceeds for over an hour.

 

_

  
Early the next morning, Clint props up a Stark-pad next to the tank and plays Die Hard. Tony wishes he could hate him for it but he’s so bored he could actually kiss him.

 

Maybe he  _ should _ kiss Clint. 

 

I mean, this might be a princess and the frog situation?

 

Wait, why would Clint be the princess? Surely Thor would be the princess, with all the hair and stuff. Or Steve, just because he was pretty. 

 

Whatever, it probably wasn’t even sanitary to kiss a fish.

 

Fuck, but Tony was so desperate. He actually would kiss Clint at this point. Boredom was gonna kill him. 

 

“Maybe I should kiss Tony,” Clint says absently, sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal. Natasha rolls her eyes. “No, really. What if it’s like a princess and the frog situation?”

 

Tony glares at him from inside the tank. That’s a dumb idea, Clint, you idiot.

 

“Why would you be the princess?” Natasha responds, “Surely it would be Thor. Or Steve, because he’s pretty.”

 

“Whatever. One of us should kiss Tony.” 

 

“Is it even sanitary to kiss fish?” Bruce comments lazily, entering the kitchen in his PJs. Tony swims angrily in a circle, trying to focus on the movie and not his dumb friends with their dumb ideas.

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil tiny chap for u bc im slakking + also fic so angst y'all deserve a lil bit o humour
> 
>  
> 
> ALSo:: what do you guys think Tony's patronus/animagus would be? Curious as to what you guys think.


	6. Chapter 6

  
  


“How do we know they haven’t changed back?” Bruce sits at the counter next to Clint, swiping the cereal, “Has anyone seen either of them?”

“JARVIS?”

“Mr Rogers did not sleep, sir, though attempts were made,” Jarvis responds, and all three of them curse. The fish in the tank slams against the glass twice and Clint can’t help but nod in sympathy. 

“Where is he?” 

“Right here,” Tony’s voice says from the doorway, with all the firm authority of Steve Rogers. 

They turn to look at him, each hiding their surprise at just how weak the great Tony Stark looks. It was testament not only to Tony’s ability to disguise his exhaustion but to the significance of the impact that the switch was having on Steve’s resolve. It went without saying that existing in a body that is not your own is tiring, let alone a body that was much weaker and less physically able than the one you are used to. 

“How are you feeling, Cap?” Natasha asks, hiding the discomfort she feels at asking Tony’s body personal question. It was easy to talk to Steve, about anything, but Tony? Never him. Nobody wanted to go and spill their guts to Tony.

“Fine.” He nods, assessing the room. That was a classic Steve characteristic, analyzing the room. Tony didn’t. Tony owned every room he walked into, even if technically he didn’t. Casual confidence seeped from his bones. Steve’s usual rigidity when it comes to addressing situations and questions was unfamiliar on a face usually so flippant.

“You could try exercising? Tony’s unlikely to keep regular hours with sleeping. If you could exhaust him enough to get his body to pass out, we might be in for a win.” Bruce says, but all Steve can think is that Tony’s exhausted enough. He needs a spa treatment or a vacation or something. Or a foot rub. He makes a note to give Tony a foot rub when they were back in their own bodies. 

“This would actually be a very good opportunity for you to look after Tony,” Natasha suggested, “the idiot can’t do it for himself. If he comes back to a rejuvenated body, he might be inclined to stick to healthier routines to keep it up.”

“Do a detox or something,” Clint adds and Tony’s brain is instantly irritated at the suggestions. Steve and Tony both hated being helped, so the two of them combined made the comments ridiculously annoying. 

“Whatever,” He waved them away, walking across the kitchen. He wanted a coffee or a fucking drink, but their advice was actually good, so he began making a smoothie. Tony liked smoothies, right? 

Visions flash through his brain, of black lines across his chest, up his neck, reaching over his shoulder. Sallow skin, short breath, weak muscles. The feeling of literal poison in his veins. The drawn-out, stretched, looming certainty of a death that he had fought tooth and nail to prevent. The desire to leave an impact. 

“Steve? Buddy, snap outta it.” Clint clicks in front of his face, effectively bringing Steve back to reality.

“If Tony’s memories are intruding, then you could try simple grounding methods,” Bruce says, not looking up from his cereal, “classical music, mindfulness, meditation. That sort of thing.”

The thought of sitting still, exploring his thoughts, confronting his feelings or otherwise addressing the problem at handmade Steve want to die, so he shook his head.

“I think I’m just gonna, I don’t know, go for a walk or something.”

“Remember that you’re not Steve, you’re Tony. People are going to recognize you,” Natasha adds, and Steve’s getting really fed up with all the advice, helpful or otherwise. Apparently Tony couldn’t catch a damn break in this city. Maybe he should go to Malibu or something. 

The word Italy flashed across his mind, but that was a little far-fetched and unnecessary, so Steve went to central park. Nat was right, people did recognize him. It started as just one kid, then several others, then a lot of adults, and then people were taking photos and Steve for some reason wasn’t panicking. His exhaustion clouded his vision, sending things spasming every now and then. The world wobbled, blurring at the edges and his mind was haywire with confusion from the lack of sleep.

He spoke easily and smoothly, somehow managing to take in all that everyone was saying despite the fact that it was several voices at once. He autographed things, smiled for pictures, answered questions that Steve didn’t know the answer to, and even brushed off the few insults that filtered through.

Steve Rogers was still in there, though, and he had wanted a peaceful walk in the park, not this. He does his best to push through the small crowd, telling them politely that he had things to do. Breaking into a run would ruin Tony’s image, so he just walks quickly, praying that no one would follow him.

They did follow him, but after a while, he managed to duck behind a bush. His heart rate was steady, but there was a hollow, dead feeling inside that Tony’s body associated with the general public. A few people had yelled at him for being a rich asshole, or arrogant, or a capitalist, or whatever. Tony’s body didn’t seem to care much. That was kind of sad. 

Steve leaned against a tree, pulling Tony’s black coat around himself. Tony would maybe listen to music or something. Loud, deafening music, but Steve was content with the noises of the city. 

The truth was, Tony was lonely. Steve had established that. Thing was, Tony didn’t really know he was lonely. Or he did know but didn’t care. Didn’t care or had resigned himself to it. At some point, Tony had obviously just realized that maybe he was going to be alone forever. It broke Steve a little that the realization had probably happened when he was so young. Tony had grown accustomed to the knowledge that he was different, and a ‘handful’, and maybe just someone who was never going to know what love felt like.

 

Because Tony’s heart was  _ broken _ . Tony’s heart was broken the way Steve’s heart was lost. Tony’s heart has been beaten and bloodied and battered and torn and attacked since it first started to thrum with life. Tony’s heart, since the beginning, has received nothing but abuse and it has grown tough because of that. It's grown hard and solid and cold and yet it still keeps managing to get damaged. Everytime it begins to repair, stronger and harder and more iron than before, it gets destroyed again, leaving Tony to build and build and build again and again until its stronger than before. Now, he’s built his own heart out of scraps in a cave. Now, he’s made himself out of tougher material, encased himself to be better and stronger and _more,_ so that the next time someone comes and tries to rip it out of his chest, he’ll be ready. 

And yet, the metal heart is a lonely heart. 

 

Steve, though? Steve had almost given up looking for his own heart. Lost maybe in the ice, maybe off a train with his best friend. Maybe in a hospital home with a woman that lived a life without him. Maybe it was gone forever, lost in the ocean. Maybe he’d just need to find a new one. Maybe someone could build him a new one.

 

Steve goes to sleep against the tree, the world draining away around him.

 

-

  
  


“I know this isn’t the first time I’ve woken up in Central Park with no memory of the last three days, but someone wanna tell me what the fuck just happened?” 

 

Tony Stark stands in the doorway to the Avengers’ Tower kitchen, dirty and ruffled up. Natasha, Thor, and Clint sit around the island, assessing him.

“Tony?”

“No, it’s the fucking of Queen of England. Of course it’s Tony, you shitheads.”

“Yep, definitely Tony.” Clint nods, “welcome back, buddy.”

“Back from where?” Tony asks, moving to grab a cup of coffee, rubbing his temples, “How drunk was I? I don’t fucking remember anything from the last day or so.”

“You were a fish.” Bruce enters the room, catching on pretty quickly.

“Steve was in your body.”

“You know what? Tell me that exact sentence in another context.” Tony grins, and everyone rolls their eyes because they had  _ not  _ missed the sexual innuendos. “Seriously though, you’re fucking with me, right?”

“Nope. His body was in a coma state for a day or so, you were in the body of a fish, and Steve occupied your body.” 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No.”

“Oh God, I actually remember being a fish. Oh, fuck, I thought that was a dream.”

“No.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Tony said again, walking towards the elevator in what can only be described as an escape. He repeats himself all the way until the doors close. 

The second the doors close, Tony collapses to his hands and knees as everything came back to him. The feeling of having been totally, violently, disgustingly, invasively violated ripped through him like a spear. Tearing his flesh from his bones was the sickening notion that Steve had been _inside_ his body. Inside his _mind_.

He hadn’t been told, explicitly, but he could feel it. He could feel Steve in his brain. He could feel the ex-presence of another soul in a space that should never be shared. His own thoughts, his own memories, everything that was him had just been rigorously and thoroughly exposed and divulged to somebody else. 

Tony dry heaved, choking up and vomiting the second he stumbled out of the elevator. His throat trembled, brain clenching and spasming because _someone else had been there_. Bones shaking, muscles aching and soul in a manic, distressed storm of Oh God No, Tony took deep, staggered breath that couldn’t quite get enough air. His chest seized up, his lungs were black and clogged, everything was coated in a thick film that felt like it was seeping into all of his pores, sticking to everything that he was made of, suffocating him and tearing him apart at the same time.

 

_

 

“We should probably check on him,” Natasha said casually, picking at some fruit. Clint shook his head.

“He’ll be fine. We should probably make sure Steve got back okay.”

 

__

 

Steve woke up to what could only be described as absolute peace.

 

A million noises and sounds and voices were nowhere to be heard. His mind was clear and calm, his thoughts ordered and rigid. He was Steve again. He was in his own bed.

His lungs sucked in cool air, more oxygen in them than Tony’s body had ever been able to hold. His hands were warm again, his chest didn’t hurt, there was no dead, cold weight in his sternum. The thick, heavy darkness in his chest was gone, replaced by that familiar unsureness. That familiar feeling of displacement Steve had been carrying since the ice.

The determination was back, too.

Steve sat up, relishing in the fact that his head didn’t hurt, his eyes didn’t hurt. The weight of years of exhaustion was gone, the zillions of thoughts and ideas were gone. The feeling of emptiness and numbness was gone, replaced by that old desire to put right what had happened.

 

That was the problem, Steve realized. 

Tony couldn’t be put right. The experience, as it continued to come back to him, had taught him that Tony was… Tony was…

Steve put his head on his hands and, for the first time in a long, long time, he _cried_.

 

He cried, because nothing would ever be the same again.

  
  
  


_

  
  


For hours, Tony stayed in his room. Overwhelming, overpowering, oppressive fear ran through his veins, invaded his throat and his mind and his chest. Never, in his life, had he ever felt so violated. So disgusted. So disgusting. He stayed, unable to move enough to stand, on his hands and knees, eventually allowing the feeling of something large and immovable in his chest to dissolve into choked out coughs, unable to prevent the pained, panicked noises through gritted teeth, half sucking in loud, wet breaths. Then, squeezing his eyes shut so tight they hurt, he lay crumpled on his floor and _cried_. For the first time in a long, long time. He cried with the fear, and the anger, and the sheer, raw, aching and raging sadness of a truly broken man.

 

Steve had known what it felt to be him, what it meant to be Tony Stark, and nothing would ever be the same again. So Tony cried.

  
  


_

  
  
  
  


Neither Steve nor Tony came down all day. The team asked for updates from JARVIS, but all they got was an assurance that they were conscious and in good health. 

“Was this a bigger deal than we thought it was?” Clint asks, leaning against Thor.

“Shouldn’t be,” Bruce shrugged, “Steve experienced the very baseline of Tony’s brain. He would not have had the very worst bits, the really bad bits and the more intense bit of Tony’s mind. It’ll be a very shallow experience of being Tony.”n

“Okay,” Clint says.  
  


_

  
  


Tony curls on his side against the wall, eyes staring straight ahead. He hadn’t cried since he was practically a baby. He hadn’t cried when his parents died. Hadn’t cried when Jarvis died. Or when he was kidnapped, with the open heart surgery on a cave or the torture. Hadn’t cried when he was dying of palladium poisoning and hadn’t cried when he’d gone through the wormhole. Hadn’t cried when his dad beat him until he threw up. Hadn’t cried when his mom told him it might be better if he went to boarding school for a while. He hadn’t cried at MIT, when he was truly alone at 15. He hadn’t cried. 

 

Tony breaths out, slowly, raggedly, and tries to think about anything but the fact that Steve had been in his body. 

 

He doesn’t eat, or sleep, or move, he just stays there, listening to the thoughts buzz around his head.

  
  


_

  
  


Steve stayed in bed. He doesn’t do that, usually. He hadn’t spent the day in bed since he was an ill, sickly child. Usually, he had something to do. Something to focus on or achieve.

 

Today, though, he just sat. He thought about Tony. No matter how long he thought about it, what angle he went from, he just couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. Whatever had happened, whatever the last few days were, it wasn’t right. And Steve couldn’t fix it. He was totally, utterly helpless, and it made him feel worse than he had felt in a really long time. He sits there, listening to the sounds of his steady heartbeat.

 

_

  
  
  


At 3 in the morning, Tony goes down stairs. Slowly, movements lagging and sluggish, he walks with heavy limbs across the floor towards the kitchen. Maybe coffee would help. Maybe he needed something familiar. Maybe he just wanted to see the glow of the fish tank.

  
  


_

 

Steve stood in the elevator at 3 in the morning, numb and tired. His muscles were feeling great and healthy, movements easy and fluid. Nothing was heavy, he was taller and stronger and fitter than ever. However, his mind compressed under the pressure of his knowledge.

 

The elevator slowed to a stop, sliding open onto the kitchen floor.

 

_

  
  


Tony turned at the sound of the elevator. At the sight of Steve, he didn’t freeze, or flinch, or jump. He met his eyes, keeping a steady gaze when he also saw him.

 

Neither moved.

 

Steve stood how he normally did, shoulders back and chin up and arms by his sides, but his face was lax and open. He said nothing, just kept looking at Tony, right in his eyes. And Tony returned the gaze, also not giving anything away, body standing straight.

 

For a while, they just looked at each other and neither said a word. Nothing would ever be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updaaaaaaaaate
> 
>  
> 
> this badboi drawin 2 a close sune in enuf babes.
> 
> sayhi2somemoreangstlol. 
> 
> snot long now little ones and everything will b aright?
> 
> Things will be great! Definitely! Probably! Maybe! sorry lol tell me what u think. i love when u all coment ok ok 
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO HOWS ABT THAT TRAILER HUH  
> `


	7. Chapter 7

  
  


Tony looks like he’s dying, Steve thinks. Tony looks weak and sick like he’s never looked before. Ever. Steve wonders if he did that to him. 

He can remember, largely, what it felt to be Tony. It felt so nothing. So hopeless. Like an aching, echoing chasm was in his chest and he was travelling listlessly through the void in search of something, anything. The difference, of course, was that Steve had hope. Steve had known that this would be over soon, that he’d be back in his own body, to his own problems, but Tony didn’t have that. Tony knew, thought, decided, accepted, whatever, that he was going to be alone forever. That he was going to feel like that forever.

Steve’s brain, the way he thought, was solid. Ideas and morals and decisions made from a young age have built up stronger and stronger, solidly and firmly to create a foundation upon which a soldier was born. Steve’s brain got sturdier, got more reliable, and being able to fall back on itself, being able to rely on the processes of his own mind, was something he had taken for granted.

Because Tony’s brain was like quicksand. Tony’s brain was unreliable and dynamic and unpredictable, and it moved at different speeds and directions, and the processes of his own mind fit into no binary code, obeyed no laws of logic, besides that of which Tony has been forced to create in order to understand the workings of his own brain. Unlike Steve, Tony had not grown into a soldier. Tony had been forced to fight for survival in his own mind, in his own lifestyle, and this had born a man of the future. From this, from his brain, Tony had grown to look forward, to find a way out and a step above. There was no system, no rhythm, no pattern, he’d had to embrace whatever came, be flexible with the workings of his own self.

Steve, having drowned in the small section of Tony’s mind that he had been able to access, fell back into his own rhythm of thought with nothing but pure relief.

Tony looks at him. He looks guilty. He feels sorry that Steve had to deal with that. He looks a lot of things, actually, but Steve can only see it now he knows its there. God, Tony had so much guilt. Tony had so much guilt and it was crushing him. Steve didn’t know what to do about it. There was nothing Steve could do about it.

 

_

  
  


Steve just stared at him. Steve stared and Tony couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Guilt, maybe. He looked sorry, he looked sad and he looked… angry? Not really angry, more like distressed. Concerned. Whatever. Tony didn’t care. Shouldn’t care.

There are just a million things that could happen. Tony could just leave. He’d have every right to just leave. He hadn’t had enough time to get over it, maybe would never get over the knowledge that Steve had been in his mind. Tony could joke about it, maybe alleviated some tension. He could get angry? He had a huge right to be at least a little angry, even if Steve hadn’t been there intentionally. He could ask what Steve found out, what he did while in Tony’s mind. He could do any number of things. A million things could happen. What was going to happen?

Slowly, they’d moved closer to each other. Tony hadn’t really realized, too caught up in the thoughts swirling around to really notice, but they were much closer.

_

 

Tony’s eyes stared deep into his, piercing and distracted at the same time. Steve doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do.

He’d experienced things as Tony that were personal. Embarrassing. Shameful. Things Tony would never want Steve to see. Maybe it was only fair he revealed a secret of his own.

So, in the dim light of the kitchen, illuminated by the glow of the fish tank, and spurred on by nothing but a fervent desperation that had gripped at Steve since he’d first realised how lonely Tony was, Steve grabbed him by the tee shirt and yanked him forward, smashing their lips together.

Tony hadn’t known how to feel about Steve, back when he’d thought about it. Steve hoped this would make up his mind, either way.

Tony didn’t melt into Steve. Didn’t submit receptively, but nor did he pull away. For a second, he didn’t do anything.

  
  


_

  
  


Tony’s brain short-circuited.

For the first time in a long, long time, his mind went totally dead. Just the word ‘fuck’ spinning on a loop through his brain. Steve was  _ kissing  _ him. Steve was kissing him and it felt good and he hadn’t even realized this was something he’d wanted but God, it had been a long time since he’d been touched and it was _ Steve Rogers _ . It was Steve Rogers, kissing him, touching his ribs and sighing like this is something he’s always wanted. 

“Uh,” Tony says eloquently, pulling away enough to look into Steve’s eyes. Blue. Bright blue and full of life. 

 

_ 

“Sorry,” Steve says back, blinking twice at Tony’s eyes. God, that was wrong. Good, it was so good, but it was wrong. Wrong to take advantage of Tony like that. Wrong to kiss someone who wasn’t sure of his own feelings, who felt the way Tony did. Tony needed… help, or, or someone with fewer issues than Steve. Or a therapist. Not this. He didn’t need Steve barging in, invading his privacy and thinking he could make up for it with a-

His thoughts are cut off when Tony presses his lips back onto Steve’s, gentler than before and more tentative. Steve will take an opening when he sees one, and takes the chance to wrap Tony up in a hug that maybe both of them needed.

There’s nothing for either of them to say. Or there’s too much for them to say. This, the body swap, wasn’t going to go away just like that. The repercussions of a fun ‘prank’ were going to be with both of them for a long time. There’d be things to do, to talk about. God, there was so much to talk about but for now, with Tony’s smaller body finally beginning to lose some of the tension in his arms, this is enough.

 

_

 

This is enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just anoter supah tiny chap bc i really wasnt sure which direction to take this, eventually going w an easy but cute option. the angst isnt over, but i thought we all (esp tony) needed a lil break.
> 
> ALSO to tell yall that the first chapter of my howarts au is now UP and ready. it aint much yet, but she growin baby


	8. Chapter 8

So. Steve was turned on by severe emotional issues.

Tony internally rolled his eyes, trying to get his head to shut up long enough to just enjoy the kiss.

Seriously, though. What the hell. You see someone’s got daddy issues and a sprinkling of chronic depression and you’re like, damn, that’s really getting me going? Who does that? Clearly Steve has his own issues to work through, Christ. 

“Tony, shut up.”

“Sorry.” Tony smiles a little into the kiss, ignoring the warmth he feels when Steve wraps his arms around him. 

_This is unsustainable_ , a little voice whispers. A little voice that Tony is well-practiced in ignoring. He leans into it.

 

-   
  


“You’re so forgetful.” Steve blurts before he can stop himself. Tony withdraws a bit, eyebrows raised, and shoots a curious glance at him. “Like, your brain… it’s like trying to hold water in your hands! I forgot Clint’s name  _ four _ times! Everyone kept having to remind me about food because your body just doesn’t clock it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I- No, I didn’t mean… That’s not what I-”

“Steve, it’s fine. I remember the important things,” Tony pats his arm, going for soothing but Steve isn’t having it.

“Oh, really? The important things?” Tony nods, “When’s your birthday?”

“Uh, its... “ He pauses, glancing around the room as if the answer lays hidden somewhere in the kitchen. “May.”

“Close enough,” Steve shrugs, realizing that this time could be better spent doing something else, and leans in to kiss Tony again.

_

  
  


In truth, Tony was a lot less okay than he was letting on, as was the standard. This time, however, it really was a big deal.

 

So the next day, before anyone’s up and after Steve had reluctantly stopped hugging him, Tony packs his bags and gets on a jet to California.

Who said running from your problems wasn’t a viable option?

The slight downside was that Tony  _ was  _ his problems, but he could deal with that another time. For now, giving himself some space from a person who, wittingly or not, massively violated his life and mind, seemed like the best thing for him.

He felt a little guilty. He had promised Steve that they’d talk about it, yet here he was sitting on a plane, staring out the window, trying desperately to think about anything that wasn’t Captain Fucking America.

 

_   
  


It had meant to be a week-long trip. A month tops.

 

Tony doesn’t come back for over a year.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiiiiny chapterbc my motivation is at zero. this fic be coming to an end now, my darlings. what do u think??? is tony doing the right hting??? what does steve think of it all??
> 
> ANWAYS: for my skaterboy!tony fic do we give my mans pink highlights or blue highlights?? alternative suggestions r welcome 
> 
> tell me what u think :)


	9. Chapter 9

> It’s a little fucked up.

 

Steve doesn’t cope.  
Tony doesn’t cope.

 

 

After four months, Steve flies out to see him. He doesn’t call in advance, or even text, he just rings the doorbell and waits.

“Steve” He says when the door opens, and Steve’s chest has been hammering in his chest for four hours but now he’s seen Tony everything seems calm again. It takes him a minute to realise why.

  
Tony’s exhausted.

The rings under his eyes look like bruises. His hair is curly with grease and he’s keeping a hand on the door frame just to stay upright. Brown eyes that he’s missed more than anything in the world, looking straight through him as if he’s not even there.

“Hi Tony,” Steve replies, softly, and Tony refocuses back on him, seemingly having forgotten he was stood in the door way.

“You’re another…” he trails off, letting Steve inside.

“Another?”

“Hallucination. You’re another hallucination. Get excited every time you show up, but it’s never actually you.” Tony says softly, taking a sip of an ugly looking smoothie and flopping down on the sofa. Steve stares, mouth open while the man he’s been non-stop thinking about for the last 4 months stares blankly at the ceiling, head tipped back.

“How much have you been sleeping?” Steve asks, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. At least he’s not drinking, a voice in his head whispers. Tony’s head lols to the side and a slow smile creeps across his lips.

“You sound like the real Steve,” he murmurs, grin dissolving into a smile as he closes his eyes.

“I am the real Steve.”

“Yeah” he laughs through his nose. He doesn’t believe him.

“I love you,” Steve says for no reason. No reason at all.

“Yeah. I love you too, fake-Steve.”

  
Then he’s asleep. He’s asleep and Steve carries him to bed, and then he goes downstairs, picks up his bag, and gets back on the plane. He goes home to New York City. Tony needs more time.

 

 

  
_

 

 

It’s 3 more months before Steve hears or sees Tony for anything non official.

He’s sat on the sofa, watching jeopardy reruns and drinking beer by himself and his phone rings.

Tony’s name flashing on the screen sent numbness spreading through Steve’s veins, but it’s shattered into pure, unadulterated happiness when he answered the phone and Tony’s deep, warm, not-slurring voice came through the speaker.

“To-“

“It wasn’t all bad!” He blurted, and Steve shut up instantly, willing to never talk again if it meant Tony would speak to him. “I mean, you think it was all bad. But there’s- there’s good.”

There’s a pause, but Steve doesn’t think he’s meant to speak yet.

“I- In college, second year, Rhodey and I got an apartment with these three other people. Some nights we’d all go up on the roof, watch the city, drink shitty college beer. We got the best sunsets there, in Boston.”

“Yeah?”

“And- And in High School, I pulled the greatest pranks of all time. The kids hailed me as a prank hero. The teachers pretended to hate me but they loved it, really. I knew they did.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods along, unable to breathe because Tony’s voice is back in his life again.

“Rhodey and I, everyone thinks he’s this uptight prick, but this one time Rhodey and I jumped off a bridge onto this train right before it started to move. It was crazy. I was only, like, 16. And… And I babysat. Once. Once in my life as a favour to Sharon Carter’s friend or something. This tiny kid, about 5, and I accidentally let her stay up way past her bedtime because I realised that kids are absolute treasure troves of wisdom. I hadn’t… I hadn’t laughed much that week. Month. Whatever, but she sat and drew all over my arms like a little brat and I’ve never loved a stranger before but I loved that girl.”

“Yeah.” Steve repeats.

“It’s not all bad. When I got to MIT, met Rhodey, he’s just… he’s the best. He’s a genius, too, y’know? Rocket scientist? And I’m a genius? And I’m also super rich, but this one time we broke our microwave and we were so deep under thesis work that neither of us could figure out how to fix it. For the next four months, if we wanted something microwaved we’d either iron it or blow it with a hair dryer. It caused a fire this one time and we were both so out of it we just watched it spread for like ten minutes. Finally Rhodey found some common sense and pissed on it until it went out.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, I know, right? I had take-out for every meal for 7 months. I’m telling you the tame stories, by the way, if I tell you the bad ones you’ll never look at me the same again.” He’s officially rambling, and Steve thinks he might as well just orgasm from that alone. Maybe that was weird. “And I had to go to hospital because I accidentally ingested exclusively coffee or energy drinks for two weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We didn’t really- there’s videos, of course, but... it’s the 80s. We thought we were being trendy.”

Steve closes his eyes, trying to remember every aspect of Tony’s voice. He didn’t know how long it would be before he heard it again. Maybe forever. Maybe this was a goodbye.

“First year, there was this wicked ice storm and our frat flooded and then froze. The whole first floor was this make shift ice rink for ages. I- I know I’m rambling, but-“

“No. Keep going.” Steve breathed, “Please.”

Tony’s silent for a while, brain whirring.

“I don’t remember much of college, I’ll be honest. Rhodey and I spent so much time getting drunk it’s a miracle either of us graduated.”

Tony’s parents didn’t come to his graduation, Steve’s brain notes unhelpfully.

“I just- I’m just trying to say it wasn’t bad.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

  
They’re both silent for a while. Neither of them say anything for the next 2 and a half hours. Neither of them hang up, either.

 

  

 

  
Tony comes back a year after he left.

It’s not a grand entrance, there’s no party. He comes back in the middle of the night.

 

Then the morning, he stumbles out the elevator in his PJs like he never left, takes a seat next to Steve at the breakfast bar, and joins in the conversation with the other 5 as if nothing ever happened.

“It’s not all bad,” he mumbles to Steve, a few minutes in. Their shoulders bump, and Tony’s eyes remained trained on the others as they wrestle over the only piece of toast that hadn’t been burned. Steve only smiles, because Tony’s back. Tony’s back and Steve’s going to make him _happy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS THE END. WHAT DO WE THINK!! PLS  
> COMMENT N LET KNOW
> 
> Sorry if it’s disappointing, I didn’t want it to be a grand finale type thing 
> 
> Anyways y’all should follow me on tumblr ok I’m infinity-stoner


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